FicWad

Sarah of Shadows

Author’s Note: This is a sequel to Labyrinth of Chaos and Veneration; you’ll probably be lost pretty quickly if you don’t read the other stories first (to say nothing of Roger Zelazny’s Amber series, which I guess doesn’t go without saying, even though I do appreciate the few of you strictly Labyrinthians who don’t know what the heck I’m writing about anymore and are willing to give it a go anyway.) (The previous footnote about the trumps still stands for the foreseeable future.)

An Epithalamial Interlude

“We can never predict every twist and turn of the road that lies ahead of us; some of the changes come up so quick all you can do is hang on for dear life! The other choice was immediate death – I had to!”

The initial phrase at the beginning of her answer, addressed to the demon who had been tapping his claws at her bedroom window at 1:04 A.M., wasn’t quite correct, the shape of the Thari words feeling a bit foreign on her tongue from disuse. The real axiom, of course, was ‘Who can predict all the twists and turns of the coils of the Serpent?’ – but she couldn’t make herself say those words, not now. Not ever again, as casual as the sentiment would have been for her native-Chaosian audience of one to hear.

For Sarah Williams – mere Earth-shadow of Sarilda Aricline-Barimen, who in turn was daughter to Prince Julian of Amber and Tekla of the Courts – had become a Patterner of the Primal Order via attunement to the Jewel of Judgment, wiping out the lesser imprint she had previously obtained from the Fixed Logrus, and there was simply nothing that either party present could do about the fact. When she had first awoken to the sharp rapping on her windowpane and gotten up to investigate, she had spotted Gryll almost immediately by his bright yellow cat’s eyes alone upon opening the drapes; he was perched in the bare upper branches of the big oak that grew just outside (it was late autumn, but there was no snow on the ground at present), his monstrously huge bat-like wings folded up behind him in the darkness. The reflected artificial light from the streetlamp on the corner glinted from his razor-sharp teeth, which were quickly bared in a friendly grimace upon seeing her appear…but the moment she opened the window to speak to him, the thin grey lips pulled back in an audible snarl: he sensed the imprint of his Enemy that strongly!

It took Sarah a considerable amount of cajoling and reassurance to calm him back down as she hurried to get dressed in the belted white poet shirt and black leggings as quietly as humanly possible, somewhat miffed that no one on his end had bothered to brief the old demon on her current condition before sending him all the way out here to fetch her to Lord Mandor Sawall’s wedding instead of just setting up alternative transport if it was really this much of a personal affront to him.

“Nay, not ‘affront’, little Pattern-shadow,” he had almost tauntingly corrected her as she pulled on the old Chaos-morphic black leather boots; the intervening years had only made them look good as new, the hide healing itself in the absence of regular use. “It merely makes being in your physical presence somewhat uncomfortable on a metaphysical level – you have experienced something akin to this, long ago,” he approached the window in mid-flight, landed on the sill, and turned around so that she could mount him. Merlin – the sheepdog, not the king – was just going crazy downstairs in the garage, barking his head off at the evil he could sense in his territory; it was a small miracle that her parents hadn’t woken up yet! She mentioned as much to her companion, wrapping her arms about his neck as she climbed up behind him, doing her best not to think of whatever he must’ve physically enveloped recently in order to be this large – he couldn’t even fit fully through the window at present!

“Would you allow a small use of my own power to quiet him?” he graciously offered.

“No,” she whispered in his large, pointed ear, “but if my parents check in here – shit!” She had just heard Karen’s voice in the hall!

Gryll just grimaced again over his shoulder – Sarah almost let go of him at the sudden visceral burst of dark energy! He lifted her out of the window, turned in midair and gestured toward her now-empty twin-bed with his scaled and clawed right hand… and a phantom of her own sleeping form appeared in the bed, the chest lightly rising and falling at regular intervals. There was light streaming under the door from the hall now…

The demon silently closed and latched the window from the outside by his magic also, and up, up, up they flew with the speed of a hummingbird, out into the chilly, clear November night as the city of Nyack, New York fled away below them and the golden-bronze glitter of the man-made galaxy that was the Big Apple spilled out and over the Atlantic, drowning out all but the most determined of the colorless stars above them. Gryll edged out over the water, quickly leaving the land behind – a canny move, Sarah decided; one could more easily hide the shifts psychologically in a Shadow-walk if the terrain was unfamiliar and highly changeable to begin with. The waning crescent moon had already set. Soon there was nothing but the undulating deep blue below and a peaceful heavens that were getting more distinct and bright by the second.

But Gryll just shook his head in obvious disappointment, glancing up at the completely visible constellations one saw from Shadow Earth.

“Dead,” he pronounced them in disgust, spitting, “not even a flicker of a fiery soul. And the land – all-but anesthetized to stupor. No wonder so many shadowlings dream of escaping places like this,” he said pointedly over his shoulder without shifting his resolutely forward gaze.

“It isn’t as terrible as all that,” Sarah rebuffed, “it does change – just a heck of a lot more slowly than you’re used to.” But she understood where he was coming from: the madly cavorting skies above Chaos never seemed to rest for a single moment, the garish striations almost nauseating for one Orderborn to concentrate on. There’s quite a thought, though… “Maybe those stars up there are just asleep – what would you think of that?” There were old legends even on Shadow Earth about mountains that were really slumbering giants…

But Gryll seemed not to hear her and she quickly took the cue to shut up: he needed to concentrate very hard to do this without a filmy-trail to follow, and she realized before too long that it was probably a lot less mesmerizing to keep her own gaze fixed firmly upward, away from that gradually changing, rhythmically undulating ocean: the water had just shifted from midnight blue to an impossible deep-emerald!

The weather was cooperating amazingly well considering the kinds of patterns that normally formed over a large body of water like this was… or was it, really? Sarah was pretty certain that that ocean they were flying over hadn’t been the Atlantic for at least twenty minutes now. But what about the time-differential? She’d been in such a rush to escape that she had completely forgotten to ask! There was a quick way to roughly discern it, however.

“Sorry to interrupt you, but are we heading toward Amber?”

Gryll actually cursed in his native tongue – but then gave a harsh-sounding bark of a laugh. “Think you the king of the abomination would grant amnesty to one such as myself even in peacetime? No, neutral ground is our destination this night, closer to the Divide but on the Order-side, for the sake of the groom,” he tacked on so matter-of-factly that the true oddness and implication of the statement didn’t really sink in for quite some time, and when they finally did there was no more time to be asking about it: a thick, dark cloud bank lay ahead of them, an unusual fog over the roiling black sea – yes, black. Lightning crackled through toweringly mountainous piles of thunderheads, but Gryll simply put on more altitude – it quietly dawned on Sarah that strangely there had never been a change in air-pressure, or oxygen-levels for that matter – and soon they easily sailed over the mounds of charged cotton-candy… the storm had taken on a decidedly purple hue, even some lighter shades…

…out and away, on the far horizon, could that be daylight? Yes! An orangey star that was probably third-cousin-twice-removed to Shadow Earth’s sun made his slow and stately climb into the heavens, his train of cheery colors spread out over the sky in reverse, ahead of him, burning away the last of the competing curtain of moisture so that they could commence an easy descent. She had just sighted land off to the southeast of the direction in which they had been flying, and the demon confirmed that was where they were headed as he adjusted course and started to bring them in, swooping down like a dark bird of prey. Sarah let out a holler at the freefall adrenaline rush, shocking her nervous system into full alertness again as the lushly green island approached; the ride had begun to feel a bit dreamlike, especially considering what time of night she been awoken! The spot looked like one of the British Isles, albeit the landmass was small. High sea-cliffs rolled by below them and the warmth of the star felt wonderful, working through the chill that had settled into Sarah’s bones, until they came upon the picturesque ruins of an old cathedral – and she spotted people she recognized! The girl waved down at Merlin Barimen – human formed and in his full dark-colored regalia-of-state – as Gryll circled the crumbling structure counterclockwise, ostensibly to slow down his speed before attempting to land… but a single stone from one of the walls near the chancel came loose and crashed to the ground in a rather purposeful-looking fashion a split-second after they’d passed it. Merlin’s arms were crossed and a half-smirking frown had replaced his wide grin of mere moments before as the demon touched down – already significantly smaller than he’d been before – and carefully held still as his human passenger stiffly disembarked.

“Why the displeasure, Exalted Excellency Merlin?” the old creature addressed the king he had known since he’d held him in his rough arms as a babe. “Any temple which does not burn with the fire of the Cathedral at the End of the World is blasphemous, and as such it is our patriotic right and duty to at least defile them whenever possible. This has always been our practice.”

The casual statement of intent caught Sarah a little off-guard, and she must’ve looked it outwardly because Merlin’s look of reproval softened a bit.

“Take it easy, Gryll,” the king of all Chaos replied. “That structure is a temple to no one and nothing – which is holy to us, after a certain sense. This whole shadow is more my Aunt Fiona’s idea of décor than anything of true spiritual gravity.”

“You are right – forgive me, Merlin.”

“Nothing to forgive,” the king shrugged the incident off, turning to Sarah with amusement; she automatically curtsied out of surprisingly well-ingrained habit, mentally switching into the necessary gear. “I hope you had a pleasant and uneventful journey here, Sarah – it’s good to see you in person again,” he smiled warmly, giving her a hand to rise and a once-over, shaking his head. “I suppose the old heraldry is all right for this occasion, but don’t next time – if there is a next time; you’re really on the ‘purple team’, remember?”

“There’s already enough purple and lavender in there to make you physically sick; please don’t add to it, Merlin,” a slighter, smaller man with blonde hair, sun-burnished skin and fine cavalier-style garments in orange, yellow and leather-brown interrupted from the door, striding down, approaching them: Random Barimen, of course. Neither monarch had bothered with a crown today. “If it isn’t our little Rhodes scholar,” he jestingly addressed Sarah as she curtsied for him also, “still bent on becoming a thespian? A shadow playing at shadows for the entertainment of shadows? If all the world’s a stage, then where the heck is the audience, anyway?”

“Uncle…”

“It is good to see you both, your Majesty, your Excellency,” Sarah finally got a word in edgewise, rising. “Yes, I was still planning on theatrical arts in college, but I’ve been doing some thinking, and I thought I might double-major, with the second in English, if you wouldn’t mind the extra expense, your Majesty.”

Amber’s king slowly smiled at her teasingly; they stood practically at eye-level to one another. “Meaning our dreamer would like a backup plan of sorts just in case she doesn’t become the next Ethel Barrymore?”

“If it’s not too unreasonable. My mom has gotten where she is by sheer blind luck as much as by any other factor. I’d like to do theater by itself, but I’m not keen on the ‘starving’ bit, and I don’t want to wind up with a job that I’d hate outright if it…”

“It isn’t unreasonable,” Random conceded, “but you do realize that’s going to mean a hell of a lot of work. Still, if you really think you can handle the course load and the pressure – knowing that it’s finite – I’d say go for it. I would prefer to discuss the final arrangements for this at a later date, however; in case you hadn’t noticed, we’re a bit busy today. Did you at least have a few universities in mind?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He paused, studying her, then glanced at Merlin. “I assume she was told to come this way because she owns nothing suitable to the occasion anyway. Would you mind doing the honors, your Excellency? The Jewel of Judgment might be up to the task of conjuring up articles of clothing, but I confess to not knowing the incantation necessary for such a procedure.”

“Not a problem,” the king of Chaos raised his right hand – and the neutral power source ring he wore upon it. “Hold tight, Sarah.”

And before the girl could even blink, her simple, utilitarian riding outfit had been morphed over her form into a beautiful black velvet renaissance-style dress with belled sleeves and a white cutaway section in front of the full skirts, which was cross-laced with black ribbon, her Chaosian boots becoming delicate soft slippers to match! Her eyes and mouth were wide with surprised delight as she looked down at herself, examining his handiwork.

The king of Amber nodded simple approval before turning away, heading back toward the structure. “We’ll see you in there, then.”

“Your Majesty,” she curtsied again for a few seconds, rising when he was no longer in view; it was so much easier to just plié beneath a long dress!

Boy, did that bring back memories…

“Now, this will only last for as long as you’re on this shadow; it’s just a very convincing mirage,” Merlin explained. Sarah was still looking herself over; there were little white accents around the seams, too!

“Just like Cinderella,” she murmured more to herself than to him. She had nearly forgotten what this kind of casual magic usage was really like.

“I’m not singing ‘Bippity Boppity Boo’,” he commented flatly.

That dry sense of humor… it was so like…

“Is Prince Corwin among the guests?” she suddenly ventured.

But Merlin sadly shook his head no. “And neither are Benedict or Julian – although those two replied and were refusals on personal grounds, each for completely different reasons. I think my dad believes he’s safest when nobody knows where he is. Maybe he’s right, I don’t know. It still seems like a shitty way to live, though, never checking in with anyone – but, hey, don’t listen to me; I’m just prejudiced and bitter about this ‘cause I’m his only son. Everybody else who was free managed to struggle on down here, though,” he forcibly perked up. “Gérard has a fully-crewed ship anchored just offshore on the other side of the island – he brought most of the wedding party. I think Uncle Bleys wandered in by himself, mysterious as usual. Auntie Fi invited some close kin from her mother’s side and a few friends who weren’t afraid of the social consequences of attending a service like this; her ‘ladies’ are all crammed into what’s left of one of the side rooms, getting ready right now.” He stopped and gave her a conspiratory smile. “And as for your friend the groom – last I checked he was holed up in what might’ve been a vestry, waiting for everyone to finish primping so this shindig can get underway. He’ll be happy to see you made it.”

“Oh, I’m not going to go bother him right now,” Sarah laughed a little, “I’m sure he’s busy joking with his best men! Your Excellency, do Chaosians carouse the night before a wedding like they do where I’m from?” she suddenly wondered aloud. “Or are they more serious about the thing, the ‘swallowing the tail’? …did I say something wrong?”

The king of Chaos’ smile had gradually turned into a much more guarded facial expression, sad concern clear in his eyes. “Sarah… you should be made aware that you are his only guest.”

“What?”

“I think he would prefer to explain it,” he demurred, gently taking her by the elbow and pivoting her, then pointing to a small side portal that stood open to the world, for there was no door. “Why don’t you go say ‘hi’ quick.” It was not a question.

Sarah took her leave of the king and, hiking up her skirts, dashed across the lawn up to the building. She had no idea where Gryll had gotten off to… until she looked up and saw him perched on the edge of one of the still-standing buttresses, motionless, like a living gargoyle; he grimaced and signed for her to be silent. It was their little secret.

Taking a deep breath, she peeked through the open doorway and lightly rapped on the bare masonry with her knuckles – immediately regretting doing so. Ow…

A strange figure within the long thin room stepped out of a thrown shadow, clad in Henry VIII’s finest: a white satin jacket with full-puffed sleeves that were slashed artfully to reveal black silk beneath, not-quite pantaloon breeches to match, black hose, and thin white-leather shoes that came to small points at the tips! The head lifted, and once the wide-brimmed hat was out of the way…

Sarah gasped. “Lord Mandor?!” she addressed him in total disbelief – and the split-second the shock wore off it was all she could do to keep from bursting into laughter: the look was simply too ridiculous on him!

Even Merlin had looked somewhat older to her eye – more and more like his old man all the time – but Mandor Sawall hadn’t aged a day from the last time she’d seen him, which was decades ago Chaos-reckoning, considering how time screamed by near the Abyss. He approached her, the emotion in his singular ice-blue eyes (which were still too far apart for him ever to be mistaken for a true human even in this form and mode-of-dress) was more good-humored and less mocking, as he took in the sight of her as well.

“Critical comment, Sarah? This is fashionable in Amber City, if you would care to recall.”

“It’s just very… Orderly, of you,” she finally managed to force the laugh down her throat enough to speak without cracking up. “Was it just required for the occasion? Or for the company? Mine was, too, I think,” she unconsciously smoothed the fine fabric of her skirts.

He in turn couldn’t stop smiling down at her. “You’ve grown since last I saw you.” He lifted up her chin a moment, looking at her bone structure in profile, nodding. “And maturing rather nicely at that.”

She did laugh then, and blushed a little, taking an embarrassed step back. “So, this is it, then, your big day,” she continued on after a beat or two. “Are the rest of your family and friends just busy on covert government assignments, or what? It kind of stinks that they’d all miss your wedding like this; I was really surprised when I heard it was just me.”

He had begun to pace away, his arms clasped behind his back. “What else did his Excellency tell you?”

That same strange tone…

“Nothing. He said to come talk to you about it. Mandor – sorry, Lord Mandor, what’s-”

But the sudden look of bittersweet regret and resignation in his eyes as he turned back around brought her up short. He went and sat down in a long, empty stone alcove, motioning for her to join him.

“Sarah,” he said quietly as she sat down to his right, just a whisper of his wry, crooked smile playing about his lips, “you don’t have to call me ‘Lord’ anymore – I’m not lord of anything at present save the magic that is my birthright from the Logrus; that particular inheritance cannot be taken away. But others can, when one engages in activities that the Church of the Serpent frowns upon, if not the Council.” He coolly eyed the gray stonework of the floor in front of him. “If there is such a thing as an … I don’t know that you were ever taught this word! A moment, please.” He extracted one of his small metal spheres from an inner pocket of the oversized jacket, fiddled with it for a second and switched it on.

“…excommunicable,” he uttered in American English, and Sarah’s eyes widened in disbelief, far less from the magic than from what he seemed to be saying; he left the device on. “You know what this word means, then?”

“I think so,” she forcibly switched back to her native tongue; it still felt strange speaking it to him. “You’re banned from the Church… for wanting to marry Princess Fiona?”

He nodded solemnly. “It goes beyond that, though. Unlike Amber, which is merely a totalitarian monarchy – and mostly secular in policy, oddly enough – Chaos is a highly religious nation-state. I deliberately shielded you from this aspect as much as was possible during your stay, mostly for my own reasons, although your basic welfare was among them. Desire to marry into the House of Barimen without the explicit intention of converting said spouse to the Way of the Serpent is not only an excommunicable offense, but a severe liability – socially, politically, bodily. In fact, even the idea is seen as so intrinsically dangerous that the Chaosian party in question loses nearly everything they have – including free access to family, friends, or indeed anyone else in Chaos-proper – before being banished outright, not merely beyond the Fire Gate, as in purely political offenses, but beyond the Dancing Mountains themselves, never to set foot on so much as Chaosian shadow for so long as the ‘sin’ continues… unless a conversion to Chaosian religion occurs or the Order-spouse dies, at which point one may recant and be restored to both spiritual fellowship and terrestrial holdings.”

Sarah was stunned to put it mildly. “Oh my … oh, Mandor, I am so sorry,” she began, but he simply waved it off with a thin, little lip-smile and stern shake of the head.

“True, they stripped me of everything they could, Sarah: my dukedom, my Ways – both of them – all the shadows I had created and seen maintenanced, including yours,” his expression faintly turned a little fond. “Legally, Merlin is next in line to inherit, but he declined – which was rather decent of him – and now it all belongs to Lord Despil, whom his Excellency informs me has promised, via proxy, to take very good care of it all. I always take Despil at his word; he’s a highly conscientious and personally responsible young man. Our private tastes do vary considerably, however; it would be natural for him to attempt to ‘remodel’ and redecorate Mandorways to suit his own fancies; which I must admit run a bit more… macabre, than my own – did I pronounce that right? I sense it is a loan-word in your tongue.”

Sarah nodded and gave a single humorless laugh. “Somehow that one doesn’t surprise me at all,” she rolled her eyes.

Mandor studied her a bit more closely, amused. “You sensed something sitting next to him at banquet, despite how little he said to anyone?”

“I sensed I wouldn’t ever care to be a room alone with the guy, in spite of the laidback charm-school training,” Sarah answered warily.

Mandor quietly chuckled. “There may be something to that observation. At any rate, I think I can assure you that that particular circumstance is never going to happen.” He paused a moment, becoming more serious again. “I’m not entirely cut off,” he barely breathed, as if fearing the very walls would betray him. “This is but one of the many distinct advantages of having the king of Chaos in one’s immediate family. Merlin still has the right to communicate with me as he sees fit - his position places him on nearly equal footing with the Church – but he’s still going to have to be extremely careful; should any in the Council suspect him of doing anything other than encouraging me to repent, the fallout could be politically disastrous for him.”

At Sarah’s sudden look of extreme worry, he forced his old social smile, patting her hand. “We’ll manage,” he continued in his regular tone of voice, “we always have. High adaptability is a distinctly Chaosian trait. I may have lost a title, bit I’m about to gain a princess.” The smile turned naturally crooked as he glance up above them; the sounds of a small choir warming up echoed through the complex from the main ‘room’.

“As well as her somewhat dubious, occasionally murderous family,” Sarah only half-sarcastically teased.

“Exactly so! See? It feels just like home already!”

The girl stifled her laughter; who knew how much of what they were saying could be overheard with so few barriers, as well as no ceiling?

A fiery-haired-and-bearded man in incendiary-colored medieval garb unexpectedly stuck his head through the doorway, nearly making Sarah jump!

“They’re about ready to begin, Sawall,” he addressed Mandor in Thari, eying Sarah a bit strangely. Granted the tableau of them sitting together like that right before the wedding might’ve looked a little odd, but Sarah was almost too distracted by the newcomer’s eyes: they were so impossibly blue, almost turquoise…

And his coloring…this guy has to be-

The sphere in Mandor’s left hand discreetly clicked off. “I’ll be right there,” the groom confirmed in Thari, standing; the interloper vanished with a brief flourish of an orange cape!

“That…that was Prince Bleys!” Sarah resumed her own Thari.

“Indeed,” Mandor gave her a hand up, “and I am not entirely certain of how he feels about my being his brother-in-law as of yet, but at least he has had the decency not to pass immediate censure on the union, either, as a couple other members of the Family have already publicly done.” He passed his right arm around her shoulders and lightly kissed her head before releasing her. “Now, go on out, come back in through the main doorway, and proceed to spread yourself out over all those pews on the right-hand side of the ‘sanctuary’ – even his Excellency won’t be seated over there; he’s needed for the ceremony. Just remember: you have earned the right to hold your head high among these royals and other assorted shadow-nobles, for you bear their Pattern well, and at an octave that only their king himself can match at present.”

“Octave?” Sarah repeated, a bit embarrassed that she couldn’t recall the word at present. Even though she could basically understand the gist of what he had just uttered, this clarification behavior had been so ingrained in her during her eight-month-plus tenure at Mandorways that she still did it automatically in her former guardian’s presence when she technically didn’t have to!

Mandor sighed. “I thought I felt your Thari vocabulary slipping when you sat down beside me. You must continue your active practice with it in private – promise me,” he added, letting the authoritarian edge he had initially conditioned her with creep back into his voice, satisfied that her response was still a demure little nod before she walked away, smiling. It was nice to learn that that particular exercise had not been a complete waste of time…

The Pavlovian effect was not lost on Sarah, either, as she made her way on around to the front of the ruined chapel and entered past gaily liveried Amberite guards who slightly nodded to her in passing: she had very nearly responded ‘yes, Father’ back there! It was a small but sobering reminder of just why and how it was that she knew Mandor Sawall of the Courts in the first place!

But there was little chance to think the matter over further; Sarah’s train-of-thought was immediately derailed by what lay within: the bare greystone masonry had been beautifully decked out in huge garlands of flowers and creeping vines like ivy and fragrant honeysuckle, as well as ribboned bouquets along the handful of purple-cushioned pews, making the whole place smell heavenly. They were strung across the open ‘ceiling’ also; it was like being enclosed in an ornamental garden! She passed huge standing green and lavender tapers that lined the petal-carpeted center aisle, politely smiling at the unknown noblesse who turned to stare at her as she entered… and appropriated a very conspicuous position on the near-aisle of the second-to-front right-hand pew.

It was only once she was seated thus, still looking about, that she finally realized that the choir was situated up in a crumbling gallery on what should’ve been the second-floor when the building had been intact; she had to reassure herself that, with at least two Chaosians here, it had to be physically safer than it looked. The conductor seemed to receive a cue out of nowhere, and some of the most beautiful singing Sarah had ever heard in her life commenced as the kings of Amber and Chaos slowly strode up the aisle shoulder-to-shoulder with a dignity and gravitas that really drove home who and what they were; all stood and made show of respect upon their passing. In their train were the princes of Amber in attendance with the women of Fiona’s family on their arms: first bright Bleys, then gigantic dark Gérard, and… was that Random’s son Martin?! Even in ‘normal’ clothing with his hair redyed back to its natural darker color for the occasion, the fact still remained that he had an obvious Mohawk even if it wasn’t standing up straight with styling products at the moment! His skin from the chin down was completely covered in tattoos, currently empty piercing holes all over areas of his face where various pieces of jewelry would’ve normally protruded, and…was that an electrical outlet in the side of his neck?! Sarah had been taught in Chaos that the Courts held out some hope in the fact that the heir-apparent to Amber’s throne was so malleable by Shadow-cultures, but it was still quietly astounding that a Straight Edge punk had come out of this society! Queen Vialle – slight, dark, lovely as ever, blind – strode by proudly her adopted son’s arm, followed by princesses Flora and Llewella on the arms of a couple unknown lords, as well as a handful of assorted ladies-in-waiting (although it was impossible at present to know whose they really were, for the livery of the latter was all Fiona’s.)

The processional – which had heretofore been a general chorus about the beauty of nature and the natural order – abruptly changed to a minor-nigh-atonal key as Mandor Sawall stepped into the aisle alone, tall and stately. It… it was their story of evolutionary cosmic progression!

‘Out of Chaos, dark and formless, striving ever onward, toward the Light of Order…’

No wonder he’s been banished! Sarah thought sadly as he strode past her, taking his place to the right before the two kings; the empty altar area was rather spacious, all the party still standing at attention there, the men crowding her line-of-sight. And to think that he could’ve been Chaos’ king…

But the odd meandering melody line resolved itself into a triumphal anthem as the bride appeared – on the arm of Dworkin Barimen! The hunchbacked sage just barely managed it, when it could’ve easily looked the other way around, with him leaning on her for support! Granted they were both in purple – the princess’ a rich deep velvet dress with a pale-green cutaway panel, not unlike the style of her bridesmaids (or even Sarah’s for that matter), but the bridal gown was far more ostentatious, dripping in polished emeralds and amethysts, festooned in ribbons to match; her bright red hair was elaborately braided with them as well, and a bejeweled silver tiara completed the ensemble. But ancient Dworkin’s own attire was like something straight out of a hippie stoner’s nightmare, his frail little form swathed in layers of Chaosian-style robes of purple and neon-orange, with an utterly wild turban wrapped about his head and even wilder shoe-stockings of the thinnest purple-dyed snakeskin leather in existence anywhere – ceremonial grade, Sarah realized! He simply took the few rudely dropped jaws in the pews in the stride, so-to-speak, and gave Sarah that eerie little smile of his, sparing her a lightning-fast glance out of the corner of his eye upon passing her, before reaching the company, lovingly placing Fiona’s hand on Mandor’s arm before stepping up past the two kings to officiate.

The ‘rite’ itself was actually rather short out of necessity; any and all references toward either power had to be cut out of it. The closest they got was a brief homily from Dworkin, the contents of which, by some of the reactions Sarah observed, had definitely not been on the agenda – about no matter how the powers fought, they still had to come together to do it, and here one from each of them came to be joined, and even They knew not what would result from this union in the future, but that such striving together should not preclude love, for older than even the Unicorn and the Serpent were the Eleven Elders who had watched both powers spring into existence before Time, who took no sides yet observed all, and it was to these hallowed beings that he commended them before granting his blessing.

The rest was far more mundane, the vows between the bride and groom extemporary yet heartfelt, and soon the two kings produced a large scroll and a fountain pen – the final document which legally bound the former duke and princess in Amber, Chaos, and all of Shadow as man and wife. There were many sections which had to be jointly initialed, culminating with their signatures at the bottom. All who were present had to undersign as well as witnesses, coming up the aisle in a line to do so before returning to their seats; Sarah carefully flourished hers in the calligraphy style she’d been taught in Chaos, beneath gorgeous Princess Flora’s own impeccable hand. Once the document was completed, King Merlin arcanely divided it into two identical copies, giving the original to Random, along with his hand to shake.

And then Fiona surprised everyone – including her new husband – by quickly levitating over a foot off the floor to kiss him on the mouth, throwing his ridiculous hat across the pews! This was met with laughter and applause as the choir burst into a joyous chorus and the newlyweds and assembly marched out of the chapel and into the open field to dance, stripping the garlands off the walls as they went. Musicians from Random’s court were waiting there already, pipers and string players, harp and tambourine and drums. They danced a simple spiral on the spot, winding round and round Mandor and Fiona and a lone violinist in the center, below that dreamlike sherbet sky, with the sounds of the surf echoing in the distance…

It wasn’t until much later while they were all sitting at the wedding banquet (which had been ‘catered’ by the groom, of course) that the change in Mandor’s demeanor finally dawned on Sarah, as she watched him interact with such ease with all and sundry: he was free of the burden of his position in life, the almost unthinkably overwhelming level of responsibility which had long rested upon his shoulders! Aside of his connection to the princess, he had become John Q. Public as far as these people were concerned, and he seemed to be relaxing into the part rather comfortably already!

She was glad someone was able to relax here: once the first dance had ended with the couple jokingly tied up in the flowers – and subsequently cut free, save for their wrists which were left tied together (his left, her right), Mandor had insisted on formally introducing his former ward to those present whom she had not met since the rest all knew each other at least to hail in the street. Sarah had learned the Royals by rote and reputation alone from her studies, but being faced with a bunch of them in person was simply overwhelming! While it was made known that she had performed some important political service which was of benefit to both monarchs in the past, the explanation of her presence was left at that, and to her small relief she didn’t garner much subsequent attention from most of them beyond a few polite surface questions and a handful of obvious ‘public relations’ smiles for the most part. Martin – who at least looked closer to her age – casually asked her what kinds of music she listened to, and was obviously disappointed by her answer as he looked about for someone else to talk to. Once the groom (bride in tow) and the king of Chaos had retreated back to the chapel to prepare it for the wedding feast, however, some of the other gentlewomen present began peppering her with far too many questions for comfort, and Prince Gérard gallantly-yet-awkwardly cut in, coming to her rescue as it were, leading her away from them as he asked her whether there was a good football team at the college she was planning on attending on King Random’s scholarship, whether she kept up with the sport at all, professional or collegiate – ruing that his nephew Merlin, with all the latent powers he seemed to have at his disposal, either couldn’t or wouldn’t rig up an inter-shadow satellite T.V. service so that he could watch! Sarah couldn’t help but like the gentle giant (who, incidentally, had to have been wearing half-a-football-field’s worth of blue and grey silks in his own current outfit), and she patiently listened to his stories of playing defensive tackle for the Alabama Crimson Tide under Bear Bryant in the late 50s and early 60s on Shadow Earth, completely baffled that he had even been there – and not about to ask why – until it was time to eat.

And eat they did: the pews and candles had vanished off the face of the world and been replaced with a long trestle-table, already laden with the meal in entirety; Mandor deliberately caught Sarah’s eye and flashed her a devious little smile – there was nothing to be gained from giving his Orderborn guests heart-attacks as courses spontaneously appeared and disappeared on cue! And his chosen menu fit the general oeuvre rather well: roast pheasant with a sweet/savory wine sauce and a fruit chutney that the birds had been stuffed with; thinly-sliced venison steak drizzled in a garlic sauce spiked with fresh herbs; numerous kinds of vegetable tarts – turnips and salty mozzarella in butterflake, tangy onion-apple in a quirky thin-rolled rye, spinach and mint with parmesan and sweet spices with ground fennel baked into the crust… the list went on, with no two alike. A veritable cornucopia of fruits – fresh, stewed, and candied, both Order-based as well as Chaosian – were artfully displayed throughout; Sarah almost cried when she spotted slices of a turquoise melon she hadn’t tasted in over two years! All the seasonings were relatively subdued as well, no doubt to better suit the neo-medieval palates they had been designed for: piquant and complimentary yet not dominating. In other words, perfect as usual, even by the Amberites’ standards.

Sarah had nearly forgotten just how delicious Mandor’s deus ex machina cuisine really was. After her return home from her adventures, Karen had been rather surprised to find her stepdaughter spontaneously take to the kitchen like pitch, but for as accomplished as the girl had gotten over the past couple of earth-years – and with quite a number of different dishes and cooking techniques – this little display was a very stark reminder of just how much better it could get (even if her former guardian was technically cheating after a certain sense.) To his credit, none of the dishes seemed to be laced with any manner of spells for a change; perhaps it was considered gauche at best and impolitic at worst due to just who all was at table. At one point, the groom even went so far as to toast the other end of existence as best he could manage:

“To Amber – long may she remain as unmovable and sturdy as Mount Kolvir!”

…And all had joined in with a cheer. Gryll’s large, pointed ears had to have been burning with his words, Sarah thought, but there was hardly anything he could’ve done about it that wouldn’t have immediately landed him – and probably the two Chaosians present – in hot water, not to mention drawn swords and general pandemonium!

But as festive-nigh-raucous as the general atmosphere of the party was, the simple fact that Sarah was the groom’s only guest artificially inflated her social status for the event, to the point that she had been seated between Princess Llewella (who was pleasant enough after her own fashion, albeit rather pointedly reserved, her pale-green half-Rebman coloring putting her young human dinner-partner in mind of a rather different girl) and one of Fiona’s first-cousins from her mother’s side, who was undisguisedly miffed at being publicly upstaged like this, and made a point of ignoring Sarah for the duration of the entire meal! It was just as well; some of those assembled spoke a distinctly regionalistic dialect of Thari that the girl had more than a little difficulty in understanding.

If dinner had been the stuff of legend, the wedding cake was a dream given substance, enrobed in a rich almond-anise marzipan fondant, shot through with thick slices of a fruit – which was supposed to be ‘local’ to this cluster of shadows – that was buttery in texture like a perfectly ripe mango, yet pale and tasting of a sweet custard instead… and an insinuation of rose-flavoring which only consciously blossomed upon the tongue a couple of seconds after one had swallowed, the effect nothing short of heavenly. Needless to say, the dessert course took some time.

Once the meal was quite finished and the table had been magically pushed to the far-right side of the room to make space, the dancing started again in earnest as that tawny star began to set, torches being fixed in the walls to maintain the necessary level of light. Sarah rued that there was no real opportunity for her to ask his majesty King Random about Sarilda: she was curious to know how her original was faring under her father Prince Julian’s cool gaze and tutelage, and she hadn’t been sure whether it was all right to bring it up with any of the other royals. Surely at least some of the immediate family knew about her original by now, but who and how much? Sarah inwardly sighed, watching the finely dressed lords and ladies spin and weave in intricate patterns about the floor; maybe she’d have a chance later when the two kings finalized her scholarship. She genuinely hoped the kid was doing okay.

“May I have the honor of this dance, miss?” A male voice broke in on her private thoughts; she turned where she was seated… and was rather surprised to find Prince Bleys!

“Your choice flatters me, my lord,” she carefully used the semi-formal address most of the House of Amber (for whatever reason) historically seemed to prefer to the proper one, “but I couldn’t possibly – I don’t even know how to do that!” she gave a self-conscious little laugh, looking back at the other dancers.

But he persisted with a little teasing smile of his own, giving her a hand up from the table, his deep blue eyes merry as the devil. “Yes, you do; you simply do not remember yet,” he answered her cryptically, leading her out into the open space with the rest.

I think I know a newly-made Chaosian duke you would get along with swimmingly, she thought, but wisely kept her mouth shut as he began. At least I’m safely in public…

…and to her shock and amazement, all the steps were familiar, second-nature in fact! Weave dance or reel, courante or Silent with accentuated clapping and stamps, she not only knew them all but the movements were ridiculously easy – it had to be some kind of spell! She glanced about the room for the prince; she’d left him behind ages ago (almost none of the dances were performed permanently partnered). He saw the question in her eyes and gave her a dangerous smile that set her nerves on edge, glancing pointedly in turn at his full-blood sister, who was currently twirling entwined in Mandor’s arms.

But of course. ‘The Witch of Amber’ the lady was called elsewhere (and not in a good sense, either.) The epithet was certainly earned; the small working she had performed here had been so flawless that Sarah hadn’t even noticed when it was laid upon her!

There were a few more songs before the groom requested the musicians’ silence and all but Mandor and Fiona cleared off the floor, crowding the table; Merlin stood close by Sarah, and the king was obviously in high spirits, as if he was in on whatever was about to happen next. Her hunch was right: Mandor turned and signaled his brother, fire practically dancing behind his inhuman eyes, and Merlin quietly uttered four unconnected words in ancient Chaosian Thari – a spell lynchpin!

The strains of a lone lute-player (was it a lute? The resonance was almost too strange, submerged somehow) slowly filtered in from out of nowhere, followed by two deep alto-register flutes and a highly variable percussion section that seemed to be there less to keep a steady beat than to accentuate certain movements of the dancers at very specific moments, more along the lines of jazz improvisation.

And such a dance – Sarah had never seen anything like it in her life! The motion was sensuously flowing one second, only to shift to an abrupt staccato that bordered on physical violence, and back again at odd intervals! They seemed to attack each other in various ways at proscribed moments; the whole thing had to have been carefully choreographed to avoid real injury – Fiona had just made a show of biting Mandor’s neck before all-but swooning away in his arms, laying back as he supported her limp torso, before thrashing back to life! But, by increment, the discordance in the music was beginning to slowly unify, parts of the rhythm developing coherence as they gradually stopped struggling against each other and began to move in closer and closer time until all was performed in perfect complimentary tandem; they moved as if they had just fused into one serpentine creature – any motion Mandor began, Fiona completed, and vice-versa – until the undulating coils of the Logrus Herself slithered about them from out of Mandor, and with a sudden and feverish shivering speed in the music there was a rearing back like a cobra preparing to strike-

And a hand suddenly covered Sarah’s eyes! There were a few audible gasps from the audience… before the applause!

Oh, come on! She deliberately thought hard at the person the hand was connected to, trying not to laugh; from the bit of billowy sleeve in her face, it was obviously Merlin. The music quietly hissed out of existence before he uncovered them.

“You are in no way old enough or otherwise prepared to witness the climax of a Chaosian wedding dance – you’re not even out of double-digits yet,” he apologetically smiled down at her a bit patronizingly. The corporal band, such as it was, had started up again and seemed to be taking requests at this point, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred!

“What about Martin, then?!” she whispered, annoyed.

“My cousin has already experienced pretty much everything else in existence, as you could guess just by looking at him; this merely completes his education.”

“Sarah.”

It was Mandor; Fiona was standing at his back, pretending to ignore them for privacy’s sake – Sarah had to smile at the gesture. Most of the other guests were migrating back out on the floor again or lounging at the table drinking; only one or two might have been paying them even passing attention. “Thank you so much for coming, but from the fatigue I see in you it’s well past your bedtime. What time and day was it when you came here?”

“About one-in-the-morning, Thursday,” the words all but slipped out of her mouth; she was far too well conditioned.

“Then it would be irresponsible of me to keep you out any later when you have school tomorrow – yes, I felt that thought. You have already lost a little over two hours, wouldn’t you say so, your Excellency?”

“More or less,” Merlin noncommittally commented, watching the dancers, goblet in hand.

“Then it is past time for you to be leaving us.”

“But the party’s still going!” she protested, in no hurry to return to her ‘normal’ life just yet. How she had missed this! The pageantry, the different culture, being treated like she was someone other than just another kid, another lonely dreamer in a sea of dreamers.

Nobody.

“Sarah,” Mandor assumed his ‘father’ tone, “this isn’t the end – at the very least King Random usually requires some service to the ‘True City’ once one of his scholarships is completed, and both he and Merlin will be in touch with you long before then. As for us,” he glanced over his shoulder at his new bride, “well, beyond the honeymoon, we’re still shadow-shopping for a home that suits both our tastes,” he gave her connected wrist a little playful tug. “Honestly, I’m beginning to suspect this may very well be the most difficult portion of the entire operation.”

“Well, if someone didn’t insist on every last aspect of nature following a specific aesthetic dance, this could be a lot easier,” Fiona rejoindered, pulling on him in return.

They already bicker like an old couple, Sarah inwardly smiled – then remembered that, timewise, they really were! Their courtship had likely taken decades, Chaos-reckoning!

Her train-of-thought derailed, though, as Mandor very discreetly formed the smallest Logrus hole she had ever seen – an inky void that was barely the size of a baseball – and pulled a small white box out of it, quickly banishing the aberration before anyone else could notice, and presented it to her.

“Since you obviously still don’t drink. For the occasion,” he added conspiratorially, the old sideways smile firmly in place.

Sarah lifted open the lid, having no idea what to expect: nestled inside a layer of tissue paper were four high-theobromine-yield deep chocolate truffles – she could smell them even before they were totally unwrapped! But they were perfumed with something else, a kind of botanical… she froze upon recognizing it, eying him warily: it had to be an extract concocted from the euphoria-inducing flowers that grew in the pocket-shadow he had made for her private playground! They were spiked with joy-blossoms?!

“It’s perfectly safe,” he reassured her. “You did specify nontoxic; you could’ve eaten any plant material growing on that shadow without experiencing any ill effects at all – and that includes dependency,” he added in a whisper, knowing her concern at this close of proximity. “I know you’ll consume one tonight even if just out of curiosity, but try and save the others for when you really and truly need them; one is enough. As long as they remain in the closed box, they’ll keep.”

The aroma had gotten Fiona’s attention, too. “Hey, where are mine?” she coyly pouted.

“Later,” he purred in her ear, reaching around and caressing her jawbone, behind her ear and down her spine with his free hand, watching her involuntarily shudder, seemingly oblivious to his own company for the moment!

“Oh – ah, Princess,” Sarah awkwardly interrupted, “thank you for the…”

“For the invite?” Fiona instantly recovered her composure, grabbing her husband’s wandering hand; Sarah suddenly wondered just how much he’d had to drink tonight, his usually pallid face just a little bit flushed. “Of course you were a welcome addition to our guest list.” She smirked. “It’ll wear off by itself in another hour or so,” she informed her quietly. “We couldn’t have you sticking out like a sore thumb out there on the dance floor, now could we? We’ll be in touch somehow,” she warmly took Sarah’s hand with the one that was secured to her husband’s, and Mandor took it after, bringing hers as well as Fiona’s to his lips in turn!

Okay, he’s probably a little drunk, Sarah thought with a rueful smile of her own as Merlin escorted her back out of the glowing ‘chapel’ and into the warm summer evening, away from curious and prying eyes; Random had nodded to them slightly in acknowledgement on their way out, his own wife currently occupying his lap. The stars were all wondrously visible, but the galaxy that was in close view was certainly not the Milky Way…

“I hope you didn’t have your heart set on flying back – I let Gryll go home hours ago; all this physically non-flowing scenery was beginning to make him landsick,” Merlin apologized, raising the spikard to ready the transport.

“No, that’s alright,” she replied. “Oh! I almost forgot! He left some kind of a phantom to simulate me sleeping while I was away! Will it just dissolve, or…”

“Then I’d better accompany you myself; I could give you a general breakdown spell, but I don’t know what he used.” Considering for a moment, the king pulled his trump deck from a pocket deep in his inner tunic and shuffled through them until he located the one he was looking for and said, “Establish remote terminal.”

Sarah’s heart leapt as the Ghostwheel’s spinning halo-light burst into existence before them!

“Sarah, this is a pleasant surprise!” the intelligent automaton greeted her in Merlin’s own voice. “Did you finally get another mission from my dad?”

“Sorry to get your hopes up,” the king addressed his creation, “we just need a quick transport to her house on Shadow Earth, and then you can bring me back here so I can finish getting well and thoroughly tanked with my favorite brother one last time.”

“Oh,” Ghost said, sounding a little disappointed, “in that case, you are already there.” He widened out and came down over them both… and the next second they were standing in her darkened bedroom! Sarah noted that the fine dress had vanished and she was back in her own clothes again as Merlin approached the bed. Summoning the Logrus, he used it to make a single sweep down the length of the phantom of her, erasing it; he banished the Sign.

“We’ll talk in a year, your time,” he whispered. “Take good care of yourself. I’ll see you later.”

“Goodnight, your Excellency,” she whispered back with a curtsy, “and thanks – no, really.”

Merlin smiled. “Just part of the job.” Ghost’s circle of golden light rose up over him and he vanished.

Sarah stood there for a few seconds, then let out a huge sigh and went to the laundry hamper to strip; she had no idea if Gryll left behind any kind of scent, but she had a feeling she didn’t want to find out the hard way with her dog. Slipping her nightgown back on, she extracted one of the dubiously enhanced truffles from the small box she’d been clutching, carefully stowing the rest away in that black leather backpack Mandor had gifted her with (she was saving it for college). Lying down on the bed – not totally sure what the effect would be like – she gave it a single lick… then impulsively popped the thing into her mouth in one go without thinking: the flavors of sinfully rich bittersweet chocolate and tincture-like alien attar just exploded over her palate, the silky texture languorously melting away, layer by layer…

And she melted into the mattress in pleasure, almost with a floating sort of sensation – she could practically feel those mutated grass blades massaging her back and neck again, the triggered tactile memory was so strong as her eyes slid closed…

And she had blissful dreams of the Shangri-la of her old pocket-shadow, until her alarm went off the next morning, far too early for her fatigue in spite of the unusually good mood that lingered throughout most of the rest of the day.

Just how much of that stuff did he put in those things, anyway? She thought with a fond smirk, thinking of the mildly compromised mental state Mandor had been in when he formulated them. She hoped he and Fiona would be happy, that it would work out, that she would be allowed to see them some time.

But Sarah would not see white hair, pale hide, nor black-and-white livery of Mandor Sawall again – until the discovery…